A Map for Wrecked Girls

by Jessica Taylor

  Alex held one end of some cordage between his teeth as his hand jerked harder at the already-tightened ties. “Is everyone ready?”

  I nodded first and then Henri.

  We loaded Henri’s bag with every full water bottle our bags could carry and strapped it down to the raft with the strongest vines.

  “Get low!” Alex yelled, and we dropped flat on our bellies. He was the only one who knew how to sail, so we did everything he said to get past the first mile of waves.

  With my hands wrapped around the bamboo and my nose inches from the ocean flowing through the raft, I sealed my lips to keep from swallowing salt water.

  If he said “Right,” we leaned right. “Left,” and we went left. It was the first time Henri ever listened to Alex without argument.

  I faced our island when we were a distance away, beyond the breakers. It looked so large and solid, my feet ached for it one last time. Out on the open water, there were predators and the beating sun and enough ocean to drown us a billion times over.

  Alex rigged up a tarp to keep us from getting totally scorched when the sun rose, and then stared at the island too. He wore a wide grin I hadn’t seen since before the accident, back on Luquillo Beach.

  “A day,” Alex said, as if he was reminding himself for extra courage. He reached between us and wove our fingers together. “Two days at most.”

  Two days at most until we crossed paths with those ships.

  We took shifts sleeping. Alex was worn out from managing the sailing, so I insisted he take the first one.

  “You can sleep too,” I said to Henri. “If you want.”

  “I’d rather stay up with you.”

  My sister and I sat with our knees pulled to our chests, gazing up at a sky full of stars. The moon shone so brilliant and bright, I could see it reflected in Henri’s eyes.

  “Do you think everyone thinks we’re dead, Em?”

  “I hope not,” I said. “But probably.”

  “It’s had to be hell for Mom after this last year. After Dad.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why don’t you hate Dad? How can you not?”

  I sank back against the raft. “I don’t hate him. I just try to accept him for what he is—kind of an asshole. Hating him doesn’t make him less of an asshole, but I don’t like what it makes me.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed her watching me. Slowly, she nodded. “What do I do back home?” she asked. “What does a person do when her whole life has been caught up in other people?”

  Eyes still on the sky, I said, “I think you have to try to do something for just you.”

  “Like what?”

  “You could get a stupid boy to pay your way through Europe, or you could do it on your own.” I glanced at her.

  A small smile graced her lips. “Maybe.”

  Alex clambered to grab the tarp when the morning breeze caught it, but a blast of wind ripped it right out of his hands. “Son of a—”

  Without thinking, I stood to get it. The raft tilted and Henri’s backpack slid toward the waves. She went for it, and a side of the raft lifted out of the water. We were about to capsize.

  “Whoa!” yelled Alex. “Down!”

  Henri and I both hit the deck. We all rocked back and forth until the raft’s movements slowed. We couldn’t even see where the tarp landed, somewhere out there in the waves.

  Henri plucked her backpack from the very edge of the raft and tied it back down. “Well, there goes not getting fried.”

  We bundled up with all the layers we had. Heat burned through our clothes by the afternoon. We watched the horizon for a ship that should have saved us. A ship that never came.

  “Don’t worry,” said Alex. “I’m sure those prisoners escaping Alcatraz went through worse than this.”

  I didn’t have the heart to remind him that nobody knew if they’d lived or died.

  We floated, not talking, barely moving that second day, except to switch off watching for boats to rest our eyes from the sun. The blue glittery waves reflected rays so bright, it hurt to stare too long.

  Alex shook my arm halfway through his turn.

  The glow of sunlight was orange through my closed eyelids.

  “A plane,” he scratched out—he wasn’t drinking enough water.

  Henri scrambled to her knees. “Seriously?”

  The plane shot across the sky, a small passenger plane that wouldn’t see us unless it was looking. Still, I lifted up and waved.

  After the plane was only a white jet trail, I sprawled against the raft.

  On the third day, Henri unscrewed the cap on the last bottle. “I guess this is it for the water.”

  She passed it to me, and I couldn’t help myself from gulping three large swallows.

  Henri closed her mouth around the bottle and took a small drink. Her chapped lips had cracked open and bled.

  Alex was stretched out on his stomach, his temple pressed against the bamboo. His quick heartbeat was visible through his skeletal back. He’d been so careful to not drink too much that he hadn’t drunk enough at all.

  Henri crawled to him with a bottle of water. “Here. You need this more than us.”

  Careful not to put weight on his broken hand, he rolled to a sitting position. His left hand shook, and he steadied the bottle with his splinted hand. “Thank you, Henri.”

  Alex had been wrong about the distance, and I waited for Henri to attack him over it. But she never said a word, only wrapped her arms around her legs and rocked herself as she waited for help to come that never materialized.

  We drifted at sea, and by the fourth day—with no water except salt—our motor skills were gone, our heartbeats rapid, and once Alex had blacked out.

  Even though we were on fire, we wore our shirts draped over our legs, our jackets or sweatshirts on our backs, and our sleeves pulled down over our fingers. We had no protection against the sun without the tarp. The island had browned us dark, but the reflection of the ocean water was savage. The raft was like a rotisserie spit.

  Henri tied her hair in a thick knot and fanned her neck. “I’m too hot with these clothes on.”

  Alex tossed handfuls of ocean water down the back of his shirt. “We gotta keep them on. If we get any more sunburned, we’re as good as dead.”

  I leaned back on the raft and let the water lap against my legs between the spaces in the bamboo. It looked so delicious to my thirsty eyes.

  My knees knocked together as I unzipped my jacket and dropped my shorts down my legs. We were very possibly dying, and I decided I wouldn’t do it sweaty and burning up.

  “Jones,” Alex said.

  “I don’t care.”

  Henri stuffed my clothes in her tied-down backpack and stripped to her bikini.

  The sky above blue and blistering, we all stretched flat against the raft.

  The moon overhead bathed us in the brightest white light as Alex slept on his back on one side of me.

  His shirt was open and I rolled onto my side to face him. My fingers traced the ribs straining against his skin. He was emaciated, but his heart kept beating inside his chest. I turned to my other side, toward Henri, whose veins popped from the thin tissue around her eyes. Still, her body refused to give up.

  I wedged myself back between them and gazed up at the night sky. Out here, the stars were brighter than they’d ever been—even on the island. I remembered how so many stars we see have died long before their light reaches Earth.

  I was staring up at a graveyard of stars.

  Looking at the beautiful blackness, I wasn’t thirsty, hungry, tired, hot, or cold. My heartbeat didn’t jump through my thin, dehydrated skin. Part of me, maybe the delirious part, wished that when the sun rose in the east the next morning we wouldn’t wake up.

  Water ran past my cracked lips and into m
y mouth. My chest convulsing with hiccups, I opened my eyes. Morning sun reflected off the ocean as I looked to Alex and then Henri. I grabbed one of each of their hands and shook.

  Spatters of rain fell from the sky and they both gasped awake. Henri jumped when the first cold drops struck her tanned belly. She scrambled to open the water bottles, but it took my help, and Alex’s too, to make our weak fingers unscrew the caps. As they filled, we held our leathery tongues to the sky.

  We relished the blissful feel of water filling our mouths and cooling our skin.

  I realized how absolutely thoughtless it was to wish for anything but survival. Because if we didn’t make it, one of us would have to watch the other two die.

  Hours later, the storm still raged. My fingers bled from holding myself against the raft that bucked beneath me. Lightning crackled across the horizon.

  Henri squeezed her eyes shut. “Tell me again about the chances of being struck by lightning.”

  “About as good as getting stranded on a deserted island. So for us?” Alex’s voice went dry. “Odds are good.”

  The sea bounced us up and down, thrashing my already- black knuckles between the bamboo slats. My stomach tangled in knots that kept lurching toward my throat.

  Henri hung over the edge and Alex held back her hair while she vomited into the ocean.

  Before long, she was on her own, because Alex was puking too.

  A tall wave rolled through the water, growing higher and higher as it neared.

  I worked my fingers into the slippery bamboo. “Hang on!”

  The wave crashed over us. Everything went silent. The water pulled us under. I opened my eyes to the deep dark but didn’t let go. I told myself we could only go so far before the buoyancy of the raft pulled us out.

  Pain hammered my ears, and the raft buckled. Any deeper and the pressure would break the bamboo apart.

  The raft popped out from under us. I gasped and heaved. We were still hanging on. But everything—our water, our loose clothing—was gone.

  Alex reached for my hand and looked from me to Henri and back again. Over the wind, Alex screamed, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Alex,” yelled Henri. I cringed—I didn’t know what she might say next. “Shut up. Not your fault.”

  My sister gripped my right hand and Alex squeezed my left. We all closed our eyes as the raft bounced beneath us. Soon we’d be too weak to hang on.

  “Em, look. Emma! Emma!” Tears spilled down Henri’s cheeks.

  Alex got down on his stomach, arms over the edge of the raft, air rattling from his chest as he splashed and paddled. Drizzling rain stung my eyes as I blinked at the horizon.

  Cutting through the waves was the hull of a cargo ship.

  “They don’t see us!” Henri yelled, throwing a spray of ocean behind her hands as she paddled.

  We fought the walls of water, trying to put ourselves in the ship’s path but also terrified we’d get too close, they wouldn’t see us, and we’d collide.

  We drifted close enough to see movement and waved our arms over our heads, screaming until we ran out of breath. Then gasping and screaming again.

  The ship blew its horn. Three short bursts. We were found.

  A pulley system lowered a smaller motorboat into the waves. It puttered toward us, and Alex jumped off the raft and splashed into the ocean. He let Henri wrap her arms around his neck as she lowered into the water. I dropped off the raft’s side too fast and my weight sank.

  My eyes stung as I opened them underwater, fighting toward the top. I popped above the surface, gasping.

  Henri wrapped an arm around my waist, and we paddled toward the boat, clinging close.

  Alex swam ahead, glancing back every few seconds to make sure we were behind him. He clung to the motorboat’s edge, waiting for us, even though the driver tried to pull him up. He helped Henri into the boat first, lifting her from the water and giving a final shove.

  Alex reached for me, but we were weak and fighting to hold on to each other. Legs kicking under the surface, I held his gaze.

  He straightened the bikini strap that had fallen off my shoulder and hoisted me into the motorboat.

  The three of us huddled together in the shade of an awning. The storm had blown through as quickly as it came, and now our sunburned bodies shivered as we took turns offering pieces of our story to the captain.

  A deckhand brought us bottles of water. Alex drank his too fast and vomited it back up on the floor, letting some of the water—still cold—slosh onto my feet.

  My sister cringed and patted him absently on the back, but I wasn’t bothered. Alex’s puke was nothing to me now.

  Henri clutched at the deck’s floors as if she needed them to live. Her equilibrium was off after so many days of bobbing in the sea. Someone brought granola bars, and when Henri reached up to grab one, she plunged forward and planted her hands on the deck for balance.

  Ship workers walked up and down the deck, staring at our raft bobbing in the ocean below. Waves rocked it against the ship, and soon it shattered against the hull. As splintered pieces spread across the water, I wondered how it ever carried us so many miles.

  The ship medic unwrapped Alex’s broken hand, and he flinched when he saw the dark blue fingers tied to jagged pieces of bamboo.

  He squeezed Alex’s hand in different places, checking for nerve damage. “You look familiar,” he said, “Alex, huh? You’re not Casey Roth’s cousin?”

  “I was. Casey didn’t make it.”

  The medic stared back at him, and threw a look to me and my sister. “Let’s go below so I can reset this with something clean.”

  Alex came back a few minutes later and crumpled to my side as if his thin limbs couldn’t carry him any farther. With my stare I asked what was wrong, but he looked away.

  The captain glanced from our dirty bare feet to our singed hair. “How long were you on that island?”

  My teeth chattered as I tried to speak. “Seventy—”

  Alex’s arms came around me, wrapping me tighter in a scratchy blanket the workers brought. “We’ve been lost for seventy-three days, sir.”

  “Well, we’re heading back,” the captain said. “We’ve radioed the coast guard. They’ll get the three of you to a hospital. Fast as they can.”

  I nodded, only to find Alex shaking his head. “I don’t need a doctor. Have them just take the girls.”

  The captain huffed. “We’ll see about that.”

  The ship turned toward Puerto Rico and barreled through the waves as the captain led us all below deck. In the cool shade of the cabin, Henri and I wound our fingers together. Alex’s breath left his chest with a shudder, and he kept his head in his hands the whole way back.

  CHAPTER 36

  My vision exploded with doctors and nurses the moment the paramedics wheeled us through the hospital doors in San Juan.

  The fluorescent lights against the white ceilings, people shouting orders and information to each other, the monitors beeping in rhythm with our vital signs—it was all too much. With my eyes closed, images flashed of blue skies, bright nights, deep pools, sharp teeth, warm hands, wet lashes, flowers, flames, strands and strands of seashells, and ocean waves crashing on our shore.

  “It’s really them,” someone said.

  The room fell away and rushed back to me.

  We were alive. Reborn into a world where everyone had thought we were dead.

  “I need a phone,” I told the nurse as he fastened a hospital bracelet on my wrist. “My parents—we have to call them.”

  “Save your strength.” The nurse tightened a tourniquet around my arm. “They’re in Atlanta. They got on a plane before the cargo ship even made it to the shore. They’ll be here as soon as they can.”

  “Atlanta?” I said.

  He didn’t answer, and I didn’t as
k again.

  A doctor ran her fingers over the glands in my neck while the nurse punctured my arm once, twice, three times. Finally he got my IV in. “Sorry. You’re too dehydrated. I couldn’t find a vein.”

  He lifted my other arm toward the doctor, who peered through her glasses at the puckered wound that ran the length of my arm. Henri’s stitches had come loose and some trailed from my skin.

  “Who stitched this?” she asked.

  “My sister.”

  “Are you allergic to any medications? Penicillin?”

  On the examination table across from me, a different doctor and nurse looked over Henri. Her knees were purple from banging against the bamboo raft for four days. I stretched out my legs—our knees matched.

  They kept Alex on the other side of the room, behind a curtain that gaped open a few inches. He’d been too quiet since the coast guard transferred us into the ambulances. Dengue fever, I heard a doctor say. It was a mosquito-borne virus that they thought had made Alex so sick on the island. The next thing the doctors did was examine his hand—they weren’t sure he could keep his fingers. If he did, he wouldn’t regain full mobility again.

  A couple of uniformed officers lurked outside the door.

  I was sure the police wanted to talk to Henri and me—we were two teen girls missing from a vacation spot. There had to be missing-persons reports filed. Of course they had questions.

  But they seemed more interested in Alex.

  A doctor peeled back the curtains and one of the officers moved forward, flashing a badge. Alex kept his gaze on the floor while they spoke. Their words were muffled, but Alex nodded and followed the officer toward the doorway.

  I craned my neck, hoping Alex would make eye contact and give me a sign that everything was okay, or terrible, or something. Anything.

  He never turned around.

  The doctors said we were all suffering the effects of smoke inhalation, and our kidneys were shutting down from dehydration. They pumped our veins full of fluids and electrolytes. Our first meal was only a few cubes of chicken breast, overcooked broccoli, and a small cup of a vanilla nutritional drink that left a powdery residue on my tongue. We’d been malnourished for so long—they didn’t want to feed us too much too fast. Even though those few bites were the best I’d ever tasted, my stomach cramped and everything came back up. They increased our fluids then and gave Henri and me shots for nausea that made us so tired, we swayed on our feet.